I'm tired and it's bed time. I'm sore from training for a triathlon sprint. I just spent over three hours sitting at home listening to music and working on random projects. But I'm happy. I'm usually evaluating, or analyzing, or questioning, or remembering when I write here. But today I'm just here. It's nice being part of this existence. I've got complaints and things I'm waiting for, but here we all are. Did you see the sunset today? It's amazing how the red sky hits the wall making silhouettes of anything in its way. Don't worry. I had to look that word up. It took me three tries and I knew I wasn't going to get it. So good morning, good afternoon. Good evening. Hello. It's good to be alive.
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The last, the least, the greatest. same thing. In all of this, I was struck by one reality: It’s all about relationships. At one point, Pastor Jim did an interview on the radio. Pretty cool. Probably thousands and thousands of people got to hear him. He came away a little befuddled. It was a unique experience. Listeners called in and he had to come up with answers really fast. But I thought about my life. It’s never really been changed by some quick snippet I heard on the radio or even by some real powerful preacher saying something to a humongous crowd of people. My life has been most changed as a result of watching people’s everyday lives and becoming hungry, even jealous. Or, through people watching my life closely and loving me enough to contradict me and off-kilter ideas, as well as by meetings with God where he took some truth in a moment and put his power on it, and his grace and mercy, and it penetrated whatever dumbness and resistance I had, grabbed hold of whatever willingnes...
What did we do what did we do? Pastor Jim preached at Pastor Borys Krysenko’s Messianic Congregation in Kiev at one of their retreats. It was about 3 or 4 days long (they merge after tiredness of flights and jetlag). I played and sang a couple of times. Rachel danced (Pastor Jim’s daughter. She’s in ballet.) These were long days of worship and preaching. Praying for people, dancing and talking with our new Messianic friends. It wasn’t a single church retreat, it was a regional retreat, so there were people from all over the Ukraine, Hungary, perhaps Poland and I can’t remember where else. When the retreat was over, we had Shabbat services. They have 2 congregations in different parts of the city. Rachel, Abigail & Jacob (a couple from Michigan who joined our team) and I went to the service that was smaller and was comprised mainly of younger people and Pastor Jim stayed with Pastor Borys and ministered there. Our lovely driver, Vlad, upon observing a back up in traffic due to an a...
Ukraine #4 I danced for 3 hours. We all did. Three hours at least. It all started when we had to take the offering and they leaders said, “ok, you can play music, but it has to be quiet because there’s a leader’s meeting happening in the room next door.” So it started quiet. And for 15 – 30 minutes remained as such. Then everything changed. It gets loud. People start dancing. It’s Jewish so there’s all these circles where you hold hands, and conga lines that are like follow the leader. Guys with guys and girls with girls. The guys are a little rough. Some of their dancing is just organized rough-housing. Everyone is sweating. I see sweat dripping off the chins of some of the men. The women glisten. I sit on the sidelines at first. These are my only clothes. My luggage is still lost. Someone grabs me and I’m in the circle dancing. It’s hot. We’re all sweating. I think of sitting down. The woman still won’t let go, so I give in and start to sweat. What can I do? I’m only here once. Sudde...
My luggage is lost. I won’t point fingers, but someone I know is praying for God to heal Air France. And I agree. The good news it that my guitar made it through. I was worried about it because I forgot to loosen the strings, but in the end, all was well. Just no luggage. So here I am. I have a toothbrush. No make-up, just some lip-gloss. I guess that takes off all the pressure of what I am going to wear every day. It will be these jeans, this blue shirt, these socks and these boots. And this face. My flight arrived about 40 minutes after Pastor Jim and Rachel got in, but when I got through customs and into the area to pick up my luggage they are still standing by their carousel waiting for their bags to come through. Now I’m waiting here hoping that maybe my stuff will come. Another kind young passenger discovers me and a few others who had transferred in Paris. All of us have missing baggage. So they translate for me and help me fill out the lost and found forms. I’m staying with Mar...
I'm in Paris. What a disappointment. Only a whole lot of airport and a whole lot of smog. It's early in the morning, so it's light, but I can't see the tower. I can't see the city. Who really knows if it is Paris after all? Except for the fact that they speak french and they say "Fwanns" instead of "France." This is my last little stop before Kiev. It's been fun traveling alone. The languages are fascinating and exciting to have come to my ears. One french man just gave me directions in pretty good English, however, his directions were wrong and now I have to go back the other way to catch my flight. I sat by two girls all the way from Detroit to Paris. Not a word of English, except for to say, "I can't speak English." To which I can't even respond, "I don't speak French." I'm surprised at how Hollywood is everywhere. Why? In every language, it's the same stars. Who cares? Apparently we all do. I don...
so Christmas. The little (now family 0f 6) is somewhere on the water between here and the island. All is empty and silent. clean. No little boots and coats compete with the jacket and scarf I left upstairs. It's there all on its unhappy solitary own. They drove away in their borrowed mini-van after two weeks of incredibly interrupting my life. Nothing was normal. Every moment mattered. Making eye contact. Being there. Every day. All times of the day. Sharing stories. Asking questions. Sitting. Last words constantly repeated by Arabelle. Abrupt kisses erupting from Timmy. Facts and numbers broken down and explained by Joe. He knows everyone's birthday. And Havalah. She finally came the 26th. My sister was so glad. I couldn't read my bible or get changed in any sort of religious seclusion. I had to teach them to knock. It was shocking and a little offensive to them. Why on earth would I even want to stop them from coming into my room when they KNEW I was in there? Didn't ...
I think that I know things. Like I think that I know that most people who have blogs secretly hope that they will be "discovered" by readers who will find them and every aspect of their lives, fascinating. People all over the world, they hope, will tune in each week to see what has been posted, what the great and intriguing blogger has said. I think that people think that, because I think that. So far, my blog has been a dismal failure and I must be boring as pie and full of uninteresting drivel, because masses haven't even begun flocking to me. Who are these people who's blogs make them famous? Is there such a thing? Or is it famous people who have popular blogs... famous first, blog second. And I will never be famous. Or perhaps I will never be comparatively famous. One must consider the size of the pond. I am known by people I don't know. But that's a stretch. Anyway. I wonder how many bloggers have the secret fantasy of being found and followed. Read. Admi...
when the sun comes what i do and what it does mean very different things but what i'm wondering while i let light cover even smother me with rays as it plays in my skin even my deeper life within is how so little at thing means everything so i stand. wait. hesitate for minutes, maybe days soaking because when night comes i need more than moon and memory i need light and love present with me
People I am reminded when the sun wicked shines of smiles breaking through faces. not everything of what comes, goes remains, matters, counts, lasts, lingers. what are we but spirits and things that eternally seek, waft, and wander inside our bodies and belongings discovering tasting God exploring possibilities, pushing sight and sound, breaking down and feeling finding the end and there beginning again
The other day, I heard a grandfather speak of his grandson’s death with more honesty than ever I have heard. And it shocked me. He said, “My grandson, you know, he was not a good boy, he was a rebellious boy. He had a good heart, but he was rebellious.” It was a little bit hard to hear. I’m so used to hearing that we only lose the ones that the world is not worthy of. Amazing. I remember hearing a story about this family who’s son got into gangs and drugs. Mafia I guess. Eventually the son got killed. The police were familiar with him. He’d caused a lot of trouble to the community at large. But when he died, the family paid (or arranged for.. however it’s done) for a 2 page full write up of their son, stating how he was such a good boy and had lived such a good life. The next day a public outcry arose and letters flooded the newspaper, denouncing the man. Again, a full two page write up. But this time not so positive. Either his family was full of lies or they were unable to accept rea...
I am thirty now. And it is different. I know people say it’s just a number and they didn’t feel any different after their birthday, but I do. I’m thirty. It’s really my life that I’m living. Growing up is surreal, because it’s spent admiring all these other people, thinking that they know what they’re doing, and imagining that when we get there, we’ll be able to be that great too. But then we grew up and our allusions of life proved to be, well, allusions. I think the main allusion that has taken the longest to be eroded is the one that says there is some sort of pre-destined path that I can walk in, as if in a dream (yes I used the word pre-destined but I’m not really talking doctrine. I’m using it in a different sense) and regardless of what I do, my path will be secure – the belief that the world owes me things, there are promises I can rely on, guarantees that will happen to me. But they didn’t. I got injured. I didn’t get married. I’m not a teacher. They didn’t let me into the sta...
It’s Monday, and a rainy one at that. All grey. We’ve got the wood stove ticking away (yes it does tick as the cast iron heats up and expands ever so slightly). I just had a great rough week. High internal activity. There’s a line in “Freaky Friday” (I think) that cracks me up – where the mom drops her daughter off at school and says, “Make good choices!” Of course the daughter rolls her eyes. But imagine if that’s all we did – make good choices. Imagine if that’s even what we did 75% of the time. Speaking of ticking as we were just a moment ago – I don’t understand what makes ME tick. We had an alumni basketball game this weekend. I wasn’t going to go. I had my reasons – I wasn’t really invited (officially, like with an invitation, but neither was anyone else), I didn’t know who else was going to be there . . . honestly I just didn’t think about it. The option was presented to me and I presented it with a firm “no” and planned to be out of town. But some teammates talked me into it – ...
I love it when kids are still young enough that when they’re caught at pretending, they don’t quit or get embarrassed. They just ignore you and keep on doing whatever it was they were at before you so ungraciously came by. There’s something precious about that un-embarrassment. I just saw the most beautiful thing at the park as I passed. Yes, there were kids pretending at some game where they were collecting tickets and buckling someone into a plane or ride at the fair (yes they looked at me but didn’t alter a single thing about their little magic game). But that’s not it. It was a dad with about 5 little girls. They must be 6 or 7 years old. 2 sets of ratty old pylons. A new pink soccer ball. Definitely no team, no league. Just a dad and 5 little girls. Maybe his daughter and their friends. He was leading them in stretching. Reach up high. . . Bend low and relax. Swing your arms. . . Some had their little outfits all ready to go – cleats, long socks, little umbro shorts and a jersey, ...
The News. 7:12pm. The place is empty. A couple of guys might be talking about "Amero" - the new North American dollar that is rumored to replace all Canadian, American, and Mexican currency. I bet people who watch the news and keep up with every little development have higher blood pressure than those of us who don't. I remember having to teach a grade 9 class about news. I was supposed to help them understand the difference between "News" and "Entertainment." Not so easy as I thought. I don’t remember what we actually came up with as a definition for either heading, but I do recall being more confused at the end of the unit than I had been at the beginning. We’re a generation that pushes things to their limits and formerly clear delineations disappear and everything begins to blend. Could be good. Could be bad. It all depends on what. I’m just saying, is all. It’s news if the Prime Minister stubs his toe in public, or gains wait, or calls one of the m...
I'm at City Blendz. Working. Having tea because I realize that coffee won't make me happy -instead it will suck the life out of my bones. Across from me are a group of older ladies. I played basketball against one of their daughters in highschool. There's 6 of them. Laughing, talking, agreeing, disagreeing, discussing how they want to live and die in "Home Sense" - the store. I am trying not to eaves-drop, but they are so loud. I turn up my itunes and wonder, "When I'm 55 and beyond, will I have girlfriends to talk to? Friends who have been around for ever . . " Right now there is some scandalous story, and heads are wagging and there's lots of "oh goodness . . oh my . . . ohh ohh" It's beautiful. Anyway. They don't seem the un-opinionated type who put up with each other. They seem like a bunch of characters like might play pranks on each other. I hope I have friends I can fight with when I'm 55, friends who love and listen...
It’s 5:33 pm. I wouldn’t believe it except for two clocks independent of one another have made mutual confirmation for me. I have been caught up in the whirlwind. Missions trip to Port Alice, BC to do a VBS (which was a lifetime of experiences in itself), back down the coast to Keats Camps where our youth pastor put on a youth camp for our youth. So you got the connection there. Youth. Ok. Moving on. All of my family is in town: the ones from Quebec and the ones from the Island. They were all here today. So I’m home. They’re home. We’re all home. VBS. So great. Yeah, yeah, challenging and all that stuff. Tell me what about working with people isn’t challenging. But working with kids, now that’s the big time. Especially telling them stories about Jesus and watching their blank faces register absolutely no sort of recognition to any of even the most familiar tales we tell of scripture and our God. Introducing them to singing together and hopefully some worship. Can you imagine (in this c...
So it's off to the island on a missions trip with the kids. Super excited. VBS. Camping, youth camp. Oh what fun it is to ride in a big white chevrolet. Try saying that word phonetically. Chev-ro-let. Funny. I just thought I'd drop a line (cool saying huh) because it's nice to drop lines. Drop lines, not anchors. Not that I mean anything by that, but it could. In some big pep talk it could really go over nicely. I think about "church" a lot. Someone asked me today, "Are you still going to the same church? How's that going for you?" (welcome to my blog - you the asker of my question. It's a good one. ) It's kind of funny. Some people love attending "church." Some people refuse. Some people were hurt by "the church" and now hate God. Some people go to "church" and criticize it. Some people go and don't think about it. Others run churches and don't think about it. Some run em and think about it. but then I ...
I recently returned from “The Call” in Nashville, Tennessee. “The Call” was simply a day of fasting and prayer, crying out to God in repentance and worship. I met up with the My Canada crew (Tamara Crampton and Faytene Kryskow) in Ontario, took a 12 hour bus ride through the states and met up with Pastor Jim and some of the Anderson fam down in Nashville. Here’s what The Call organizers said, and what drew me down there: In 1967, 100,000 young people, aged 15-25, flocked to San Francisco to experience the hippie movement. The mass convergence was sparked by the hit song, San Francisco (Wear a flower in Your Hair). Once there, they experimented with LSD, pot, causal sex and Eastern mysticism in what became known as the “Summer of Love.” When these newly recruited flower Children returned home at the end of summer, they brought with them new styles and ideas, flooding the cities of the US and Europe with a message that opposed authority and scorned conservative morals. This countercultur...